A Journey of Faith
by a novelist
Summary: Long faced with marital issues, Beck and Tori are finally left to wonder if it's finally time to end their marriage.


Hello, all. It's been a while, I know. This story was inspired by Chris August's song "Restore". It's most likely going to be two chapters long, but we'll see how it goes. I hope you all enjoy!

* * *

It was silent in the car. From the passenger's seat, Tori glanced at her husband. Beck's hands were vise-like on the wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as the couple drove home from the hospital.

A hospital bracelet still dangled from Tori's left wrist. A slight bruise marked the place a needle had once been, the only evidence left behind from an IV drip. Tori diverted her attention from such memories and cleared her throat. Her voice was tight when she said, "Are we going to talk about what happened?"

Beck set his jaw. "What's to talk about?"

She took a deep breath. "Honey, it's entirely normal to feel angry right now, but I feel like your anger is misplaced." She lowered her eyes. Her voice broke as she said, "He was my child too, you know."

Beck turned into their neighborhood. "It's the third time you've miscarried. This isn't news anymore, Tori." He put the truck in park. For the first time he looked at her. "It's life. It's our life."

For a moment she stared back at him, tears in her eyes. He didn't appear affected by her somber mood, however. He turned away from her and stepped out of the truck, slamming the door behind him. Tori waited a full minute before following him inside.

Their home was set up on two levels. A year ago, their guests would have walked in to be greeted by a lavishly decorated living room, the walls freshly painted an elegant shade of green, the carpet still bearing its scent of newness. Now, however, a white pillow from their bedroom rested against the arm of a couch. A felt blanket, thin but otherwise warm, lay in a heap on the floor next to it. A man's sleeveless shirt and a pair of shorts lay across the back of the couch.

A coffee table was in front of it all, its wood scratched and worn. A thin ring of condensation was left on the glass tabletop from someone's drink.

A large flat-screen television hung on the wall above a brick fireplace. On the mantle was a photograph taken nearly five years prior, on Beck and Tori's wedding day – that of a bride and groom, very much in love. A vase of red roses - a gift of apology after a particularly intense argument only a few days before - added color to the room, but no life.

As of four months ago, their living room had become Beck's bedroom. He and Tori had long had their marital problems, having tried for so long to bear a child. She had taken her most recent pregnancy as an answer to her countless prayers, having endured two miscarriages already. She had felt certain this child was meant to draw her and her husband closer.

Never had she been more wrong.

She walked up the stairs, her hand barely grazing the handrail along the way. She made her way down a long, narrow hallway toward the bedroom. She passed the baby's nursery, already furnished and decorated, along the way. Unable to bring herself to look into the child's room, she pulled the door shut, then continued on.

Beck was in their bedroom, rifling through his clothes in the dresser. A moment later, he grunted in frustration and roughly shoved the drawer closed. He stood there, his palms resting on the dresser's surface, his head hung low. He closed his eyes, and despite the darkness of the room, Tori didn't miss the tears that slid down his cheeks and to his chin before falling to the floor.

Tori hesitated, then said, "Can I help you find something?"

"No." Beck wiped his face dry with his sleeve. He sniffled. "No, I was – I was just leaving." He brushed past her and disappeared downstairs. Several moments later, Tori heard the front door shut.

Tori crossed the room and curled up on the unkempt bed. She swallowed hard as new tears filled her eyes. She rested her palm on her belly. Her heart twisted when she felt no response from the child she had come to know and love over the past few months. She closed her eyes. Then, in the silence and privacy of her room, she finally allowed herself to cry.

/ /

Tori didn't remember falling asleep, but when she awoke several hours later, it was nighttime.

She rolled over in bed. She found herself entangled in the sheets, and only then did she realize someone had pulled the blankets over her in her sleep.

Beck was home.

She sat up and ran a hand wearily over her face. She waited a moment before getting out of bed.

Downstairs, Beck was sitting on the couch. The television was on, but muted. Even then, the images on the screen appeared to be the furthest thing from Beck's mind. As Tori made her way closer, she noted with relief that his eyes were very tired, yet surprisingly clear. Their hostility toward one another was bad enough without him being drunk.

The final step creaked. Startled, Beck looked up.

"Sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to scare you." She took a seat on the couch beside him. She picked up the blanket and draped it over her legs. "Are you all right?"

He nodded. "I'm fine," he said. He returned his gaze to the television.

"Honey, I – " Tori sighed. "I don't think you are."

Beck ignored her. He still didn't look at her, although Tori couldn't miss the tears building in his eyes.

Tori reached out for him. "I'm upset, too. Sweetheart - "

"You don't get it, do you?" He snapped off the television, leaving the two in darkness. "I don't want to talk about this. Not now. Just leave me alone, all right?"

Her own anger began to simmer. She stood, letting the blanket fall to the ground. "'Not now'?" she repeated. "Now is _exactly_ when we need each other most. Seriously, sometimes I wonder why you're even still here."

He scoffed. "What are you talking about now?"

She crossed her arms. "We're sleeping in separate bedrooms. We can't speak to one another without arguing, if we speak to each other at all. I mean, we're practically divorced already."

He snorted. "And whose fault is that?"

She cried out in frustration. "You said this is our life," she said. Angry tears soaked her cheeks. "Like it's nothing. Like our lives – our _child_ – is nothing to you." Her hands trembled as her anger grew. "Did you not even care about the baby?"

Beck pushed himself to his feet. He drew himself to his full height, mere inches from his wife. "How dare you say such a thing," he said. "You know I loved him. I still do. You know how much I've wanted – _we've_ wanted – to have a child. How could you ever, ever accuse me of not loving him?"

She narrowed her eyes. She didn't back down. "You've done nothing to prove me wrong."

Silence fell over the room. Tension hovered between the young couple. Finally, Tori spoke again, her voice soft. "What happened to us?" she said. "Our lives, our marriage, our passion...what happened to it all?"

Beck shook his head. "I don't know."

/ /

After work the next evening, Tori met Andre at a bar downtown.

From the moment she walked in the door, the stench of cigarette smoke coupled with that of alcohol was overwhelming. It took her breath away. Coughing, she scanned the room for her friend. She finally saw him seated at the bar on a tarnished bar stool, his back turned to the crowd. She walked over to the bar.

"You're late," he said.

"I know. I'm sorry." She shrugged her purse off her shoulder. "Work was hectic, to say the least." Behind the counter, the bartender turned to her. She placed her order, then turned back to her friend. "Enough about me. How are you?"

He laughed incredulously. "Is that really what you called me for? To ask me how _I'm_ doing?"

She smirked. "Fine," she said. "I'm here because of Beck."

"Is he in trouble?"

"No."

"Then you know I want no part of this." Andre finished his beer and ordered another. "You're two of my best friends. I'm not going to take a side in your marital problems."

She sighed. "Andre, it's past the point of mere 'problems,'" she said. "He's angry…all the time. It's very hostile at our house."

"He's not angry with you." He reached for his drink. "Trust me. He loves you."

"Right," she said. A glass of whisky was placed in front of her. She thanked the bartender before returning to her conversation. "You know," she said, "I cried myself to sleep last night, alone in the bed we once shared together." She glared down at the drink in her hand. "The bed we should _still_ be sharing together." She took a sip of her drink. "He pulled a blanket up over me while I was sleeping. Did you know that's the first time he's so much as touched me in nearly four months?"

Andre shifted in his seat. "I-I'm sorry," he said.

A few tears fell from her eyes. She impatiently wiped them away. "Three children," she said, her voice a strained whisper. "We've lost three children, and all he can do to express his grief when he's with me is act out in rage." She reached for her drink and placed the cup to her lips, letting the last of the liquor slide down her throat. Her voice rose when she next spoke. "He doesn't even realize I'm mourning, too. They were my children, too!"

Andre raked his fingers through his hair. "Tori, I can't even begin to fathom the pain of losing a child," he said. "My sympathy is with both of you. Really, it is." He met her eyes. "Just know that you're not alone in this," he said. "I'm here for you anytime."

"Thanks," she said.

"I'll try to talk to Beck," Andre said. He finished his drink. "In the meantime, have you considered getting checked out?"

"No."

He rolled his eyes. "After three miscarriages, you're not going to get checked out?"

"No."

"You're crazy." Andre removed his wallet from his back pocket and removed a wad of bills. He tossed them onto the marble countertop. Tori reached for her purse, but he stopped her, saying, "No. It's on me." He stood and pulled on his coat. "And hey – " he gently rested his hand on hers. "It's going to be all right."

She smiled sadly. "I hope you're right."

/ /

Beck was gone when Tori arrived home just past midnight.

She walked in to a dark house. She fumbled for the light switch. A moment later, the living room was flooded with light.

She immediately noticed that the blanket had been folded and draped over the back of the couch. Beck's pillow and the change of clothes he often wore to bed were both missing.

She walked through the living room and into the kitchen. A half-eaten sandwich sat on a plate on the counter, and a knife plastered with both peanut butter and jelly lay in the sink. Water trickled from the faucet. Tori reached over the sink and turned the water off.

Confused, she crept up the steps and made her way down the hallway. Once in her bedroom, she quietly closed the door. She started toward the closet – but then stopped still.

She realized the dresser drawers had been pulled out and half of their contents were now gone. Walking to the closet, she discovered a similar sight: Empty hangers lined the left portion of the closet, and the neatly aligned shoe collection on their closet floor was suddenly smaller.

A sob escaped her throat. "No," she said. She whirled around, her anxious eyes searching the room. Within two large strides, she was at the bedside table. She yanked open the drawer. Empty.

She sank onto the bed. "No," she said. "He wouldn't - he wouldn't do this to me." Her voice was stronger now as she desperately tried to convince herself of the lie. She dropped her gaze, letting her eyes fall on the maroon bedspread. It was cold beneath her shaking hands. It was then that she noticed it.

On her pillow was Beck's wedding ring, left with a note bearing the words, _I'm sorry. _


End file.
